Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) (18 page)

“What is it?” Jake whispered in her ear.

His warm hand on her bare back moved her to lean into
him. “That man at the right of the stage. Dark hair, jeans, checked shirt. Who
is he?”

“Works for Meagher,” Jake said. “I saw him at the
Wheelhouse talking to Kevin about his paycheck. I see him around town some.
Name’s Brandon. First or last, I don’t know. Why?”

A chill rippled down her spine. “That’s the man who’s
been following me.”

Chapter 19

“Why would a dozer driver for Meagher be following
you?” Jake asked later as he flipped on the
Amy Jo
’s cabin light.

He’d hustled Lani out of the party as soon as Kevin
finished speaking. Hank had already left so there was no reason to stay and
every reason to move her where he had more control over her safety. As much
safety as he could provide.

“Beats me.” Lani kicked off her heeled sandals and
perched on the padded bench beneath the starboard porthole. She propped a throw
pillow in front of her and curled her bare feet beneath her. Armoring herself? “But
maybe you could get that official contact of yours to look into his background.”

“Already in the works.” He hung up his suit jacket and
dragged off the polyester noose. Seating himself beside her, he slid his left
arm behind her and played with her hair. “Brandon’s also one of the lobstermen
involved in the trap war you saw in the newspaper the other day. No reason
there I can imagine either. You’re sure he was following you?”

She hunched a shoulder and squeezed the pillow
tighter. At least she didn’t pull away from him. “No way to be sure. But I saw
him twice today, when Nora and I were shopping. Once in Bayport and again in
Damariscotta. Hard to miss him in a truck with the Meagher Enterprises logo on
the side.”

“Doesn’t seem like he’s too cool about it if he’s
tailing you.” When she started to protest, he added, “Unless Kevin has
something to do with it.” On the way from the reception, he’d related his
conversation—correction, confrontation—with Kevin.

“Kevin’s excuses are lame, but who knows,” she said,
turning her head and leaning into his caress like a kitten. “I don’t think he
cares about this election as much as his dad does.”

“J.T.’s living his dreams through his son. His failed
dreams. And those for his lost son. J.T. knows Kevin is nothing like John
Junior. And probably doesn’t let Kevin forget it. He’s had to deal with the
comparison his whole life.”

“He doesn’t hold up under pressure. No wonder he
couldn’t stifle his revulsion at my injuries in the fire.” Her eyes held sorrow
but no bitterness.

Jake cupped the back of her head, wanting more than
casual touching. Damn. High school nerves. No, junior high. “You’ve forgiven
him for dumping you so cruelly?”

“Forgive? Not really, but I understand him better. The
break-up was no big loss. I wasn’t in love with him so that helps.”

Her blasé tone sounded forced. Even if she hadn’t
harbored strong feelings for Kevin, his and her father’s rejections hurt her
deeply. But she soldiered on, thickening her shell against further pain.

Jake didn’t want to hurt her but what future could
they have? Their pasts had changed them. Failing Gail and Soriano had warped
him, creating a shell like hers. What did he have to give?

He looked down to see his hand caressing her bare
knee.

She turned toward him, flattened a palm on his chest.
The pillow shield was on the floor. She scraped a nail down his shirt front.
That her nails were short and unpolished made the gesture no less arousing. “Why
don’t you just kiss me?”

So he did just that.

He pulled her into his arms and took her mouth with
all the hunger that had been building for days. She tasted sweet and hot and he
craved her beyond reason.

She wrapped her arms around him and opened to him like
a flower, making no protest as he dragged her onto his lap. Lust shot through
him, pulsing through his veins. He burned for her. She answered his desire with
all the passion she’d channeled into protecting herself.

Then the taste and feel of her in his arms unlocked a
mystery he’d puzzled over since that aborted kiss in her kitchen, a mystery he’d
kept to himself for years. “Lani, there’s something I have to know.”

She opened her eyes, fogged over with desire. She
withdrew her arms from around his neck and looked at him, sharpening her focus
and her tongue. “What? You backing out? Afraid I have more scars?”

When she tried to scoot off his lap, he held her in
place and kissed her nose. “Honey, I have plenty of scars. Scars don’t scare
me.”

“What then?”

“Earlier that summer, I grabbed Gail in the dark barn
one evening and kissed her. She answered me with more passion than I ever got
from her any other time. I was drunk on that kiss and wanted more, but she ran
off into the house. I chalked it up to the darkness or one of her moods. Not
Gail. The twin I kissed was you.” He peered into her eyes, searching for
denial.

Color flooded her face. Her gaze fell, then returned
to meet his. “I never told anyone. Especially not Gail.”

“It’s the reason I said Gail’s name when I kissed you
in the kitchen. I was drunk on your kiss the same way. Why did you let me kiss
you?”

She didn’t embrace him as before, but letting her
hands rest on his shoulders was a step in the right direction. “At first you
surprised me.”

“And I never suspected. Until this—you, me. The girl I
knew then would’ve knocked me on my ass, verbally anyway. But no. You
practically ripped off my clothes.”

She huffed. “Your ego’s talking there, buster. I let
you kiss me because I was curious if you’d know the difference. It’s a twin
thing. And then—”

“Yes?”

“The same chemistry we have now sort of took over.”

She walked her fingers up his shoulders and linked
them behind his head. Her eyes held mysteries he wanted to solve.

Dark amber.

Sensual.

Irresistible.

She smiled. “Do you want to continue your
Sixty
Minutes
interview or can we return to that chemistry experiment?”

As reply, he rocked his mouth over hers and sought her
tongue. The heat between them ignited again. He hardened, aching for her as she
leaned into him, pressing her breasts against his chest. He cupped her bottom
beneath the short dress and dipped his tongue between her lips.

When she wriggled around to straddle his lap, he
dragged his mouth from hers. “I want you in a bed, not on the couch grappling
like teenagers.”

She slid to her feet. “Your berth or mine?”

“Mine’s bigger.” He hustled her forward to the berths
and followed her onto his queen-size mattress before she changed her mind.

The light above the table didn’t reach the sleeping
quarters. Moonlight through the porthole shed the only illumination, a wash of
pale gold across her skin.

He partly unbuttoned, then peeled off his shirt and
tossed it in a corner. “See, you’re not the only one with scars.”

She traced the jagged mark on his side. “How’d this
happen?”

“During a sting to take down a gang for illegal arms
dealing. Arrested the leader, biker with tattoos wallpapering his dome. He
objected. Stabbed me.” He tackled his belt with fingers made clumsy by passion.
“I want you naked but I’m afraid I’d tear that flimsy dress if I tried to get
it off you.”

She started on the zipper, but her finger stilled. “I
hope you won’t be disappointed.”

There she went again, doubting her appeal. He bent
over and kissed her, a long tangling of tongues that poured heat through his
body and swamped his system. Breath coming in short gasps, he lifted up on one
elbow and finished sliding down the zipper. “Same goes. You’re not the one who
has to perform here.”

She sputtered a laugh and stripped the dress over her
head. With the barely there confection went whatever passed for a bra, leaving
her clad only in pink bikini panties.

He smoothed his hands over her peaked nipples. “Never
hide these from me again. Perfection.”

His gaze veered to the mottled puckering that formed a
wide strap on her left shoulder. Below it blue and red art swirled above the
upper slope of her breast. The stylized design depicted Gemini.
The twins
.

“I’ve wanted to see this tattoo since the first time I
caught a glimpse of the color.” His heart pounded in rhythm with the water
lapping against the hull. He had to get this right. He bent to kiss the
scarring and the tattoo. “Your personal memorial.”

Her wary gaze turned liquid as she appeared to accept
his take on the marks. “Yes, a permanent one.” She opened her arms. “Now come
here.”

He grabbed protection from a drawer by the berth and
fell onto the covers with her. He covered her breasts with kisses. By the time
he’d stripped off her panties and the rest of his clothing, there was only heat
and hunger.

The need had never been so compelling, so complete.
And as restrained as she had been moments before, she was as bold and sensual
with him now. Every touch, every honeyed taste of her, every slide of skin
drugged him, branded him, added to the pressure clawing at him.
But no, take
it slow, make it good for her.
He started counting backwards from a
thousand.

She was drowning in sensory overload. Her brain went
on the fritz. She could only feel, not think or speak. He grazed his teeth
across her shoulder muscle, and fire shot down to her toes. He laved her
breasts with his tongue, and her nipples puckered. She shivered at the cool
sensation left behind. He took her down in a kiss that was hard, hot, and
hungry. He used his teeth and tongue, and his dark, male taste flowed into her,
tingling through her, jolting her, triggering an ache deep in her body.

Jake, Jake, Jake.

How could this be just sex? This fevered urgency and
shock waves of need, yes. But the softness and euphoric awareness were more
than sex. They were only kissing, and yet she felt swamped with new sensations
and emotions—like swallowing sunshine.

She felt the depth of his desire as he ran his palm,
roughened by hard labor, down her belly. His touch sparked heat and longing
that threatened to consume her. She rolled into him, wrapped one leg around his
hard hips, and writhed against him, used her mouth on him, on his
beard-roughened jaw, down the summer-warmed skin of his neck, to his flat
nipples. She felt his heart thumping in tandem with hers. Heard only their
ragged breathing and the slap of water against the hull, nature’s rhythms. Ah,
if only that harmony could last.

She breathed in his familiar scent. She loved the way
his muscles quivered when she licked her way back up. She cupped him, closed
her hand around him, and smiled when he groaned. When his fingers found her
most sensitive spot, brushed, stroked, swirled, she nearly lifted off the
berth.

“Now!” She arched her hips and pulled him closer, if
it was possible to be closer.

“About time.” His words gritted out like sandpaper on
stone.

When he joined their bodies, she wrapped her legs
around him to drive him more deeply. They both stilled, and then he was moving
in her, with her, and they seemed to move as one. Tomorrow they would return to
the quest but tonight he was hers, joined in passion that burned away all the
danger and pain and secrets.

*****

Lani woke to the sun streaming through the porthole
and warming her face. She lifted her head from the pillow and found Jake beside
her, his eyes still closed. She sprawled across the rumpled sheets, warm and
sated. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless.

Opening herself, sharing herself with Jake had tipped
her over the brink. Emotion and desire mixed in the heat of passion made a
dangerous brew. She could no longer make herself push him away.
You play
with fire, kid, you’re going to get burned.
She winced at the imagery.

She couldn’t read him. Most of the time he kept his
emotions and his thoughts closed off. No longer the open boy she’d once known,
tragedy had taught him to build walls. Walls, she could relate to. She’d
erected a few. Ones he was dismantling. And was it her he’d made love with? Or
Gail? He claimed he’d said her twin’s name because of that one time years ago
she kissed him. How could that be true? No matter, she had to keep it just sex.
Right.

Men don’t stay. He won’t stay. So suck it up
.

“Good morning.” Jake’s deep, sleep-roughened voice
pulled her from her reverie.

She blinked. “Good morning yourself.”

“Regrets about last night?” He smoothed a finger
across her forehead. “Or are those furrows about our bad guy?”

Busted. “Wondering if you had any regrets. My poker
face must be no better than yours.”

The stubble on his hard jaw lured her to touch him.
Then she trailed her hand down to thread her fingers through the smattering of
crisp hair on his chest. To her satisfaction, she saw his eyes darken.

“No regrets, and I have an idea how to prove it to
you.” He rolled over, covering her with his body. His hands framed her face. He
stared at her, his expression serious. “Lani.”

“What?”

He shook his head and kissed her in a way that made
her pulse sing. His mouth—hot, firm and confident—branded her everywhere. Her
throat, her breasts, her belly. One day he would leave but if this was all she
had with him, she’d take it. She ran her hands over his back, loving the
solidity of him in her arms, the way he made her feel wanted and, yes, loved.

Chapter 20

On the way back from visiting his mother, Jake stopped
for gas at the convenience store north of Dragon Harbor.

Lani was safe with Nora and other political types
working on the campaign’s parade float for Saturday’s Dragon Harbor Days
celebrating the hundred and sixtieth anniversary of the village’s settlement.
If anything came up, she could call his cell.

He flipped up his windbreaker hood as protection from
the fog that had rolled in during the night. He grimaced at the cost of the
fill-up, then again when the read-out sent him inside with his debit card. He
stood in line behind a woman selecting lottery tickets, two men with take-away
foam cups, and a baby-faced teen in chain-decorated black denim bearing a
twenty-ounce bottle of amped-up soda and a bag of tortilla chips.

A delay he didn’t need.

His visit with Ma had gone well, the best in weeks. He
didn’t regret a second of that time.

Nor did he regret a second of the time spent making
love with Lani. Instantly the memory renewed that sharp need for her that
slugged him in the heart. In spite of his defenses, she knew him too well. She
was bright and brave and had become his friend.

He liked talking things over with her. Not just their
mutual cause, but other things. She had distinct opinions about everything,
including ideas about modernizing Gram’s bungalow. Some he agreed with; others
he didn’t. Those she just waved away in a manner than charmed him. She made him
think, always challenging him. In spite of his defenses, she knew him too well.
She’d invaded the very fiber of his being and made him feel emotions he’d
avoided.

He enjoyed her, cared for her, enjoyed making love
with her, and he liked waking up with her this morning. She did make the best
coffee. But two people with too much baggage would make for a hazardous future.

But a future without
Lani?

His pulse stumbled and he willed away the intruding
emotions. Those he had
no
time for. He didn’t want to be late for his
meeting with Otis. Since other leads stymied him like dead ends in an autumn
corn maze, he needed something that would point in a new direction.

After paying for his gas and a candy bar, he paused to
open the candy wrapper. The aromas of chocolate and caramel dispelled the tang
of gasoline on his fingers. A familiar face at the pump beside his caught his
eye and he stepped aside to watch through the window. Beside a black pickup,
Kevin Meagher stood talking to the man who’d been following Lani.

Anticipation quickened Jake’s pulse. Maybe a lead had
dropped in his lap. They kept their voices too low to carry into the store but
Kevin’s doubled fists and Brandon’s angry face meant trouble. Another motorist
gave them a wide berth as he returned the squeegee to its bin and hurried to
drive on.

Abruptly the argument stopped when Kevin crossed to
his company truck, parked off to the side, and zoomed off toward Bayport.
Brandon appeared to shrug off his ire, then finished gassing up his black king
cab. His own maybe, since it had no Meagher logo on the side like Kevin’s did.
When he climbed into the driver’s seat, a smile replaced his scowl.

Did the two men meet by chance or did Kevin stop when
he saw Brandon at the pump? Jake chewed the question along with the candy.
Probably the latter.

His gut said the argument had nothing to do with
Meagher Enterprises. The black Ford could be the same pickup he saw speeding
away after the attack on Lani. Could also be the one that rammed her on the
cliff. Suspicion sifted inside him. He needed to get a better look.

Dammit, he might be late but he couldn’t miss this
opportunity. So when Brandon drove toward the village, Jake followed, hanging
back as another vehicle, a green van, passed the store.

After about a mile, the truck turned off, onto a
private gravel drive that leading toward shore. A post at the end of the drive
bore the East Road address but no name. The green van continued on south, its
taillights disappearing into the mist.

Jake studied the entrance for possible cover. He
couldn’t let himself be seen, but he had to give snooping a shot. If Brandon
wasn’t involved in the attacks on Lani or the arson-murders, no harm done. If
he was, finding some evidence—a dent in the truck, paint from Lani’s car—even a
hint Jake was on the right track, merited the risk. He’d left his Glock in the
lock box on board the
Amy Jo
, so he hoped he’d need no weapon.

This stretch of the East Road lay parallel to the bay,
less than a third of a mile away. He could go in on foot if he had a place to
stash the truck. And he knew just the place.

Another hundred yards took him to a new house lot,
where the builder had cleared trees and poured a foundation. No one in sight.
Maybe an independent carpenter who worked this project after his day job. He
turned onto the bulldozer-ridged drive and pulled behind a small construction
trailer.

After locking the Cherokee, he plunged into the woods,
his sneakers kicking up the spice of pine needles and dead leaves. He’d baked
in the overheated nursing home but now welcomed the protection of his jeans and
windbreaker. A dense thicket of wild blackberry canes and other underbrush
snatched at his jacket, wet from the dripping leaves.

At the gravel drive, spruce and maple trees arched
overhead. He trudged along by the narrow track, taking care to make no sound
and stay in the cover of the underbrush.

A small frame house with gray cedar shakes and a new
chimney came into sight and he caught the salt of the water and dampness of the
thick fog. The drive opened into a well-tended yard and led to a closed two-car
garage. Damn nice place for a part-time dozer driver—if it was Brandon’s. He
saw neither the ruddy-faced man nor his truck but heard voices.

The dark windbreaker should help conceal him in the
shadows. He swiped water from the bridge of his nose and made his way around
the dwelling toward the water side.

Two voices. One had to be Brandon, and the other he
recognized—Ed Pascal. What the hell was the harbormaster doing here? The visit
could be innocent. Jake had seen the two men together before. Maybe they were
friends. Or maybe this was Pascal’s house. Or one of them was Vargas.

He had to get close enough to hear their conversation.
He crept along the passenger side of the black pickup, its engine ticking as it
cooled. Keeping the vehicle between him and the men, he gave the side the once
over. A few minor scrapes and dings, no foreign paint like the white of Lani’s
totaled Subaru. He couldn’t work his way around to see the front bumper without
being seen. Shaking his head, he peered at the men through the truck window.

Brandon and Pascal stood on a long wooden dock
attached to a boathouse with a wide overhanging roof like a pagoda. Tied to the
dock was the harbor launch. With the wind whipping the water against the
pilings, Jake still couldn’t hear, but it was obvious this conversation was no
argument. A hard plastic cooler sat between them. Brandon picked it up,
examined the contents, then snapped it closed and set it back down.

A fish sale? Tools? Or a drug deal? Needing to hear
better, he took a step forward. A metallic clatter at his feet jerked the men’s
heads around as though on trout lines.

“Who’s there?” Brandon called.

Shit!
Jake had kicked a beer can beside the
truck’s front tire. No way could he explain his presence.

When Brandon pulled a semiautomatic from his
windbreaker pocket and began to walk toward him, his pulse revved into
overdrive. A gunfight was out of the question, no matter what they were up to.
He backed around the truck and ducked into the woods.

The harbormaster laughed. “Nothin’ but a squirrel. You
spook too easy.”

Jake didn’t wait for Brandon’s reply or to thank the
squirrel that covered his butt. He booked it for his pickup. What he’d seen
hadn’t been innocent. The gun confirmed that much.

Cocaine? Heroin? Maybe that was how an ordinary
workman could afford waterfront property with a deepwater dock and a boathouse.
And maybe a connection to the smuggling centered in Portland. What if anything
did Kevin have to do with the man’s dirty deals? His head reeled with too many
questions.

*****

When Jake picked up Lani at noon, his expression
stifled any objections she had to being yanked away two hours earlier than
planned. Harsh and resolute, like the first day he’d showed up at the farm. Her
stomach knotting with nerves, she would make herself wait. A few minutes
anyway. She’d phoned her father earlier but telling Jake about that could wait
too.

She eyed his profile. Eyes more intense than usual.
Planes of his cheeks flat with suppressed emotion. And the muscle twitching in
his cheek. What had happened?

No more than a mile away from the small development
where the younger Meaghers lived, Jake stopped on the roadside. Before she
could ask what was wrong, he reached for her and slanted his mouth across hers
for a demanding kiss loaded with fierce emotion.

Something had happened to shake him up but she wasn’t
going to deny his need, no matter the reason. She leaned into the kiss,
savoring and tasting him, chocolate and heat. When her rib cage hit the gearshift,
the jolt reminded her they were parked beside a public road.

“Jake, we have to stop.”

Breathing in deep gasps, he leaned his forehead
against hers. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

She straightened her clothing and smoothed her hair. “What
was that about?”

He laid his palm against her cheek. His dear, crooked
grin melted her. “Your suggestion of sharing photos with Ma worked.”

“Oh, I’m so glad. Tell me about it.”

He shifted to first and steered back onto the road. “I
took an old photo album from when Hank and I were in grade school. And I found
a framed portrait of her and Dad. Her eyes lit up and she even talked about the
pictures.” As he spoke, his voice roughened and his eyes glistened.

Jake always tried to be so tough, but he cared deeply
for his family, especially Grace. Tears burned her eyes and she turned to look
out the window but barely registered the fields and houses barely visible
through the fog.

When he finished describing the rest of the visit, she
realized he wasn’t headed toward the harbor but up the peninsula. “Where are
you taking me?”

The softer expression when he spoke of his mother
reverted to grim. “Rangeley. To see Frank Tyson’s ex-wife. How about lunch
before we go any farther?”

He pulled into a gravel parking lot. The sign on the
barn-red wooden shack read Fred’s Eat’s, the extra apostrophe for emphasis. Or
possibly local color.

She tingled with the possibility of what he’d said as
the delicious aroma of fried clams filtered into the SUV. “Your contact came
through with a lead. Did you talk to her?”

He shook his head. “Her number’s unlisted. I didn’t
want to waste time trying to get it. Or risk her telling me to shove it. They
separated before the case but she still might have some insights. I want to
know why a man with an exemplary record suddenly slacked off.”

They went to the window to place their orders. To
reach Rangeley in Maine’s western mountains meant a drive the width of the
state via a series of two-lane highways through villages and farmland, proving
the Maine saying that “you can’t get theah from heah.” A three-hour drive. On
speculation the woman would talk to them. Lani couldn’t get there fast enough.

When they returned to the vehicle to wait for their
food order, she said, “Is there more?”

He slanted an unreadable look her way. His hands
gripped the wheel tightly enough to bend it.

When he didn’t speak, a sliver of anxiety lodged in
her. Already he was shutting her out. The sliver ignited like a matchstick. “What?
I’m good enough to help investigate or for a good lay, but you’re the Great
Stone Face now you have leads? Crap! Forget lunch and Rangeley. I’m outta here.
East Road goes two ways.”

Jake’s eyes widened and he clamped a hand on her
shoulder. She tried and failed to ignore the buzz his warm palm sent through
her. “Whoa, Lani. We’re still partners. I was just figuring how to tell you.
What to tell you first.”

“Yeah?” She waited, still doubtful, fighting to hang
onto her ire.

He caressed her shoulder as if in apology, then
gripped the steering wheel with both hands again. He blew out a breath. “I
followed the guy tailing you, David Brandon. A guy at the party the other night
told me his first name.”

“I’m waiting.” She tried not to grind her molars. As
his story unfolded, a chill rippled through her. When he finished, she heaved a
sigh of relief he hadn’t been caught. “Dammit, Jake, if that
was
a drug
deal...” She couldn’t finish.

“Yeah, I know.” Left unsaid was what they both knew. “The
pickup didn’t look like it’d had bodywork done, but it’s worth checking. Maybe
DHPD looked into him. And I need to find out who owns the house. Public
information but I’d rather my checking on it wasn’t public.”

Before he could speculate further, the loudspeaker
bellowed his name.

“Hold on.” He bounded from the driver’s seat. When he
returned with the steaming paper baskets of food—burger and coleslaw for her,
burger and onion rings for him—he reached behind his seat, then deposited his
portfolio in her lap. “Notes from more background reports.”

She nibbled on her food as she read. She barely
noticed when he turned toward Bayport at Route One. “Nothing interesting on
Mike Spear or Steve Quimby.”

“No surprise on those two upstanding citizens. Keep
reading.” His brow furrowed as he ate an onion ring.

Soon they left Bayport’s strip malls and housing
developments behind. In Augusta, they would pick up a smaller state route west.